Paid in Full
by glittergoddess13
Summary: Sometimes small things have significance. How a receipt means so much and changes how Sam see's Dean. Bar fight, LimpDean! ProtectiveSam! SweetSam! Weechester! Adult Winchesters! Bro arguement, Brolove. Just about story about being there for each other.
1. Sizing

**Author's note: Okay, I know the summary sucks and is a little vague, but this is going to be a short one and if I tell you anymore it really ruins the plot. All it all a bit of angst, bro arguement, brolove, and a Weechester moment too. More to come soon. And yes, I'll be updating the other stories too.**

* * *

Dean needed a way out, but he was sure as hell not going to let something like this happen again. Unfortunately, there were no gracious ways to get out of this one. This would have to be sloppy, uncool. He groaned at the options before him.

Sizing up your opponent, much like a master painting, was an art. Not everyone had the knack, but Dean prided himself on his skills, knowing when to push and when to back away. Like any good dog fight, battle, or war, a good pool hustle was a just a cutthroat.

Even with a few beers in his system, he manipulated, missing and sinking shots in a detailed plan, always making sure his missed shots that set his opposition up with a lousier shot. Yet, sometimes the skill, or lack thereof, on the other side didn't quite follow Dean's plan.

Slowly walking around the perimeter of the table, Dean studied the configuration of the balls, acting as if he couldn't decide which shot to attempt, which was true. Both possibilities required a level he could easily do, but both would leave his mark with an impression he was cheating. One good expert shot could damn his carefully laid scheme to ruin.

"Oh, well. You only live once and I'll try anything once." The stick balanced between his fingers as his other hand pulled back with a seeming determination of a sharpshooter. His lip curled in confidence, and when the waitress passed he couldn't help but wink. Seconds later, his eye narrowed on the white ball and then followed the sudden jerk of his arm as he sent the shot careening into the Purple 12 stripe. The ball skipped, hopping and missing. "Damn beer."

"Blamin' beer won't help ya a bit." His massive opponent chortled, stumbling as he leaned against the wood of the table.

Sometimes the virtues of buying a round of beer were sorely underestimated. All it took was a good beat the clock night and a bucket of cheap beer to be a one of the locals. Plus, Dean drinking two to the other guys four didn't hurt his money making return at all.

"2 Ball in the side pocket."

"Ah... shit... Harry, you can't make that." Brad gaffewed.

"Dude, that's so supportive. Way to go." Dean uttered. "Seriously, you should work for Hallmark or somethin'…. Maybe a soap."

"Yeah!" Harry bellowed. "Then his wife and he could share a Kleenex."

Harry bore his bleary eyes on the shot, eyeing the blue ball with lust. Dean might have felt uncomfortable with the way the man stared at the object had the bet not been so sweet. Anyway, he was resisting the urge to salivate himself, seeing the end of this game quickly. His drunken friend would have to be a master to make this shot. Even if his opponent slammed in the blue shot, he would spiral the white ball straight towards the black ball of death. Game over- End Game- Jackpot.

Sure enough, Harry went for it. The force he used to crack the ball, overkill by any standards left little chance of the intended shot going in, but just as Dean predicted the 8 ball fell with all the impact of a comment, straight into the corner pocket.

"OH!!" All three men groaned at once.

"Dude.. aww.. that's harsh."

"TOLD YA!" Brad smarted.

"Well, boys. It's been a blast, but I'm afraid my old lady's going to have my head in a thropy case if I don't get home." Dean said, gathering his winnings.

"Now you can't leave without a chance to win back some of that."

"I'd like to.. really.. but… you know… Death by… well she has many ways of making me pay, if I show up late again. You know how it goes."

This time Brad stood up, "I don't think you're being a good sport about this."

"Yeah, I got that."

Suddenly Dean remember the other rule of hustling, sometimes you should size up your opponent not by the size of the wad of cash, but by the size of their fist. In this case the size of the fist plus one friend. This was going to get ugly.


	2. Fight

Dean jumped back to the other side of the table, trying to end this peacefully one last time. "There's no need for this to get nasty. It's been a friendly game so far."

"You're not leaving with all of that cash without a chance at shoring this up."

"Sorry. I won fair and square."

"I don't think you understand."

Without a second warning, Dean realized he definitely had to fight his way out, much to his chagrin. He raised his fists when he saw Brad come into view, bringing along a big ugly head and large freaky hands towards his face. Dean whirled, ducking and striking a jab to man's underbelly. The punch caught him full in the chest, sending his opponent screaming over.

A hand grabbed him from behind, jarring him back in an attempt to pin his arm. Dean let his body fall back, pressing into the direction of the yank, grabbing the arm and moving it forward. Pulling the unseen assailant closer, he spun around and kneed in the stomach and then twirled him away by the arm. He saw the face of Harry hit the floor, smashing on the peanut shells scattered on the hardwood floor.

Rapidly, Dean stuffed his winnings into his pocket, pushing it in a wad next to his wallet. He had just finished when he heard a horrendous stomping sound. He barely had a second to register the cue stick slamming in his mid back. He faltered for a moment, and then blindly tossed a punch as he turned. His first instinct was to fight, but a few more "buddies" had joined in the fun. Silently, he told himself to never underestimate the combined home court advantage. If all else fails, there was always the run option. As much as Dean hated to admit it, this might be a good time to use that tactic.

However, before he got the chance, someone had leaped on him from nowhere. He rolled to avoid taking damage and faced his attacker. A large knee pushed upward into his ribs. Out of nowhere, a fist moved for him too. He twisted in mid air to avoid the blow, dropping to the floor and performed an elegant shoulder roll, following thru until his body was upright.

Brad and some no named thug, that Dean hadn't met, charged at him. Dean sidestepped and kicked Brad in the back and spun a clothespin move into the other guy's neck. Again, nothing surprise him as Harry came in, that beer before fueling his every move, but the angrier be became the stronger he seemed to get

Coming in close, the battle continued. Dean hated to use the moves his father taught him, but he had no choice in the matter now. He let his strikes become fiercer and more precise. In a lyrical dance, Dean struck out, talking the drunkard down easily.

Brad came up behind him and tried to take him down, but to no avail. Dean soon laid out Brad, spread eagle on the pool table.

"This is not your fight!" Dean told the others who were bristly to break in. "Back off."

Apparently, the good old boys were not in a mood to listen. Just as soon as he managed to fend off the assault of his pool friend, he found he had more ready and willing foes primed to brawl him. Out of nowhere a few jumped him in a throng of fists and grabs, tossing him against the glass mirror above the bar.

Dean slouched in a corner or the bar, shattered glass surrounding him, reflecting the light in a glittery effect. The sound of something breaking came next and Dean pressed himself further into the corner as if the sound had physically struck him. Unfortunately it did, as a splatter of blood leaked over his forehead down onto his cheek while the remnants of a beer bottle showered him with more glass.

Swimming with the blow, Dean faltered and flirted with the edge of oblivion, unconsciousness welcoming him like a lost lover. Momentarily, the pain grew intense, both horrible and incredible. New blows struck at him from multiple directions and multiple attackers. The realization that his opponents were still actively attacking, kept him awake, but he was helpless to protest or stop them now.

This had been going on for too long. It felt like thousands of fiery knives piercing his flesh and setting his nerves aflame. The air had grown solid and thick, clogging his nose and mouth, restricting his ability to breathe, but it wasn't the air, it was blood.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Dean recognized the voice of the waitress. "You're going to kill him. "

"But he…"

"Get him out of here!" The owner screamed.

"HOWARD!" She protested, but just as powerless as Dean to stop the owner or the brawlers from doing anything they wanted.

"You know the rules about bar fights."

Dean was immediately thrown out, battered, bruised, and dripping with blood, but he alive. The pain made him acutely aware of the fact he was still in this universe and not the next. His wallet was tossed on top of his chest, empty. Well, that was nice- not only taking his winnings but the 20 he put back for the celebration dinner, not that Sam would notice anything special. Slowly items from his wallet were scattered about, dropped on him, discarded.

He decided it was best to lie as still as feasible, focusing all of his attention on the simple task of breathing, which seemed an impossible task at the moment. With each inhale, his cracked ribs cursed at him. When he moved, he determined he was in some loose gravel that poked and prodded him, adding to his already miserable body. His fingers searched his pocket, digging for his cell phone, while his head swam in the murk. He managed to retrieve it and dial it, but just barely.

"Yeah?" The voice answered. "You planning on coming back with dinner soon?" Sam uttered.

"Empty… Empty."

"That's not funny. Are you coming back or…"

"Empty… Glass." Dean muttered before his voice left him and his breath rasped.

"DEAN? This isn't funny… Dean? Come on…"

He wasn't sure when Sam's voice stopped talking or just how much time had passed or would pass before he recovered enough to call Sam again, got up on his own accord, or got a rescue from his favorite little bro. Course, Sam was his only little brother, but still a favorite should mean something. He would have chuckled with his cleverness, but he knew it was the fog of his mind talking. Tomorrow, this would not be so funny. Simply because it took his mind off the throbbing bundle of nerves his body had become, he did laugh, but not for long.

"ARRHRR!" Flopping his hand over his head, he tested movement in his legs, but didn't get far before he encounter resistance. He pushed up, trying to break free of what held him in place.

"Stop moving around." A voice ordered. It was vague and distant in Dean's ear, but it had to be close to hold him in place. Repeating the attempt, he found the same result. Dean sighed painfully to himself, wondering which of the locals had come to add insult and more injury to previous injury

"God," the voice whispered. "You're a mess."

Glancing through his blood red eyes, he focused and refocused to see a familiar face. "Sammy!" He mumbled.

"Don't Sammy me… I should give you a good crack myself. Your stuff is scattered all over the place. What the hell got into you?!"

"Bubba's fist, Cletus's foot."

"Nice... joke while you lie here bleeding and..."

"I'm doing great! You should see the other guy… and the other guy, the other guy, and the other…" Dean sat up, using Sam to balance, but started to fall back.

"WHOA… easy… can you see me?"

"Ugh…"

"I'll take that as a no. Let's get you outta here."


	3. Missing

**Back at the motel…**

"You want to tell me how you started a bar brawl?" Sam said, using tweezers to pluck and a knife to gently scrap glass shards from Dean's forehead and hairline. Today had been a strange day and Sam had a nagging feeling in the back of his head like Dean was bothered by something important. And now, he was forced to sound like a scolding parent. A task he hated more than getting poked in the eye with a sharp, hot stick. "Ahem…" Sam cleared his throat, waiting for a response.

Slowly, so as not to cause anymore pain in abs, Dean turned his head in the direction of the sound and was not thrilled with Sam's expression.

"How bad are you?" Sam asked.

"Unnn…." Dean groaned before he answered. "Somewhere between holy shit and did you get the number of that truck."

"Guess, I should get you to the ER..."

"Nah...Just a bruised ego more than anything." Dean lied, feeling the aftermath of the bar fight more than acutely.

"More like cracked ribs, busted lip, concussion, black eye and some embedded glass. When you left, you were supposed to pick up dinner and get back here." Sam continued.

"So I took the scenic route."

"And the tour included a free beating with every purchase."

"Just goes to show you, you should always read the fine print."

"This is not the time for jokes. Have you looked at yourself? You look like holy hell."

"Thanks. I was minding my own business and..."

"Hustling pool…"

"Doing some shots... hmmmm…. Hillbilly asskickers…who names theses drinks…mind you, they weren't half bad."

"And you decided to get a taste of the real thing."

"That sounds so dirty Sam. Hold me."

"Arggg…hmmpph …You're such an ass." Sam made a resentful noise and started to really tell Dean what for, but his brother was trying to move too much.

One second later, Sam issued demands. "Don't move." Even without psychic abilities, Sam could tell Dean was in a good deal of pain. "Lay back down or I'll tie you down. You'll be laid up for a few days at least." Sam drifted into the bathroom, tossing away the bloodied cloths and glass fragments.

"Again… That's a little dirty coming out of your mouth….Ewwww." Dean closed his eyes, even the half swollen one. "Arrrrgh…" he muttered a few inaudible curse words when he felt a sudden pang pain.

When Sam returned to Dean's side, he placed some supplies on the small nightstand. "Here!" Sam's hand jutted out, shaking a pill bottle.

"WHAT!"

"Take these," he ordered, serving up four rather large, white pills.

"Damn, I hoped for purple ones."

"Got you some water." Ignoring his brother's snark, Sam tried to offer assistance.

"I got in a fight, I ain't a wimp."

"Suit yourself." Sam retorted, holding out the cup of water.

Dean leaned forward enough to take the obvious pain pills and the pain in his ribs strangled his words for a moment. "Okay, I'm dying!"

"Shut up, you are not."

"Oh yeah I am …. And I'm stuck with Ward Clever…" Dean groaned, spreading out on the motel bed.

"I'm not Ward Cle….."

"Well you're not funny enough to be Cosby."He leaned further forward, taking the pills and water under his own power. He swallowed hard, and then attempted to get up, but was stopped by the pain in his side as well as Sam's hand. Dean closed his eyes and coughed with enough force to lift an inch from his bed. His ribs tightened, searing with pain. "Christ, just kill me now." He uttered, flopping back

"You could drive Christ crazy and it looks like he would have to wait in line for the other guys who beat your ass. Hope the hustle was worth all this pain."

"I'm fine."

Sam's eyebrow was raised in doubt. "You're fine? You're hopeless!" Sam snort softly "You can't go off picking fights by yourself… "

"Three against one was a fair fight, but it got a lot more involved with a lot more locals."

"So one yahoo wasn't enough and you decided to fight both the Hatfield's and McCoy's."

"Sure as hell feels like that way and the last thing I need is a lecture from you. This was every man for himself."

"I know," Sam called back, leaving Dean's side. "But you're still a mess."

The room was silent for a few second before something cold and damp flopped over Dean's forehead. Never underestimate a cool washcloth to bring a small measure of relief. "Enough overdone drama… I've been hurt before. I know when I'm fine and not fine." Dean chided and smiled, but the second Sam wasn't looking, the smile faded. He rubbed his eyes wearily, and took a shuddering breath. His body hurt like hell. Years of pain had given him some immunity to injuries and discomfort, but even he couldn't ignore cracked ribs and a screaming noggin. Never in his life had he been so thankful for the dulling of pain medications. "They get it all?"

"I don't see a spot you didn't get knocked…"

"I meant the money." Dean confirmed.

" 'Fraid so."

"I still would like the wallet back."

"I got it, but it's destroyed...your fake id and money……Everything's gone."

"EVERYT..." He said loudly and stopped with a cough, clearing his throat as it squeaked. Speaking again, he attempted to sound calmer and smoother. "Everything?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing... but there wasn't anything in there... not a piece of paper...uh...a card...nothing?"

"An empty wallet as empty as your head..."

"Watch it!"

"...tonight, anyway."

"Hey, Sam... Let's go back and teach those yahoos some manners! What do you say? Huh?"

"How much money did you have before you went in?"

"40 bucks." Dean laughed.

"Not worth you getting killed over."

"But I won 300...fair and..."

"Crooked."

"It's a skill!" Dean grinned and moved his head a bit too much. "ARGGG..."

"I rest my case."

"Thanks for the opinion, Perry Mason." Dean looked perplexed, searching for something to say that would seem a logical to go back to the Empty Glass.

"Did you lose something else?" Sam questioned, noticing the odd behavior.

"Uhh... No... uh... Hell no! I just... you're right- probably not worth the effort. Got any painkillers the size of Texas?"

"You just took four!"

"Don't do me any favors." Dean retorted.

"I pulled you of the ground didn't I? I've gotten kinda used to having you around to push me… annoy me…"

"Dude, I'm bleeding here… you could… You know what…. I'm going to get some sleep and when and if YOU DECIDE something important is happening, you let me know. Cause you're attitude- IT SUCKS!"

Sam shook his head, knowing once Dean fell to sleep, he would be out for hours. As argumentative and playful as Dean seemed, somewhere there was real pain and bruised pride. This time, Sam let his brother have the last word. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there something bothering you about what happened tonight?" Sam asked calmly and seriously.

"Nah, it's stupid…. Just foolish pride, I guess."

"You would tell me? Right?"

"Yeah… YEAH… Sure. I'm not thinking clearly- Beer- shooters- Yahoos- and Kung Fu Fighting are not a good mix."

"You sure that's all it is."

"Uh... yeah… anyway, it's nothing I want to get you in a mess about. Stupid…"

From the delay in Dean's reaction, Sam surmised something definitely was wrong or something important was lost, but Dean didn't want to admit what it was. For the life of him, Sam couldn't imagine what could be so important in wallet- some picture? After all of the things they had been through, Dean could have just said what was bothering him. "You sure?"

"Aahh...oh, yeah...you know... just showin' off by getting even. Would be better odds with two of us, but it's not important." Dean blew it off way too easily.


	4. Memento

The neon sign sputtered, ceasing to illuminate the night, as Kristen locked the doors to the Empty Glass. This night, like all the others, left her to close up on her own. "Useless men…" She muttered, imagining her boss and the other drunks, passed out somewhere. She took the same steps she did every night, heading for her car, going back to her efficiency apartment, spending the evening counting her tips, and dreaming of making enough to move to the big city.

Yet, tonight was different. She had witnessed a young man beaten by the clowns in this town. For a moment, she thought she was on edge. A case of chills spilled up her spine. However, it was something more. As if by instinct, she felt someone watching her. Even so, it was hard for her not to panic, and she started to run. Her legs pumped faster. Her fingers jutted the largest of her car keys between the middle and index fingers, sticking the metal out like a knife or corkscrew, ready to stab anyone who might be attacking. Just as she reached her car, a hand touched her shoulder. She screamed, driving her makeshift weapon forward.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy." Sam halted her plunge, grabbing her wrist just shy of making contact. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just need some information."

"HELP! RAPE! HELP! POLICE!"

"I am the police." Sam laughed. "Earlier tonight a man was beaten at this place."

"Is he okay?" She stopped struggling and tone of real concern splashed in her voice.

"He'll heal, but they did a number on him."

"I tried to stop them. They were…"

"You saw?"

"Yeah, I had to step in. They were just hotheaded that he beat them at pool..."

"That's not important, but I do need names of who was involved and where I can find them. As well as, who would have the contents of his wallet."

"They took the money, but some other things ended up in the trash. I found them when I was closing and locked them in the office. I kinda hoped to see him again."

"Let me guess, you and he were going to hook up later."

"No, but he was a cutie pie. He treated me really nice, tipped me… not like the other yahoos. Never really got a chance to chat with him. I just felt bad that…"

"I need you to turn over what you have as evidence."

"Not unless I see a badge."

"That's doable." Sam flashed one the handy badges at his disposal. "Detective Sam Ryan."

"Kristen Allen- waitress extraordinaire. Hold your applause."

Sam chuckled. "Must be a lot of excitement for this town."

She started walking, indicating for Sam to follow. "Nah, we always have some hothead or another doing something stupid. And my mother wonders why I ain't married yet!"

"I see your problem."

When the door swung open, Sam noticed the evident destruction and damage to the bar. "Did a tornado..."

"I told Howard there was no way I was cleaning that up."

"Howar…"

"The owner, I don't get paid to clean up after a brawl."

"Who started the fight?"

"Brad and Harry. The other guy… uh…never did find out his name."

"Dean."

"He was just trying to leave. Then a few others joined in. Dean held his own for a long time. UNTIL too many of them acted like they were in a riot or something."

Instantly, Sam felt like a heel. He had given Dean an extra hard time about the bar fight and now it was obvious his brother was only defending himself. It was times like these he wished Dean would just say so. Now, he wished his big brother had put him in his place. A good Shut up Sam was definitely in order.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Sorry. I was thinking about the senseless nature of this all."

"Stupidity in spades. I'll get that stuff for you."

"Good. And after I inspect that evidence. I would love for you to write out the names of the participants and any potential witnesses."

"Sure thing. You sure that guy is going to be alright. Howard wouldn't let me go check on Dean after the fight. I snuck out about 30 minutes later and he was gone. I figured he crawled off and I…"

"He'll live. Not happily at the moment, but he'll be laid up for a few days."

"Hmm… well, when he gets better, he has a pitcher on me, kay?"

"I think that would speed his recovery time by leaps and bounds."

"Hmm… I don't know if that makes me like him more or makes me nervous." She smiled, going behind the bar and into the Employee's only door.

"Both." Sam suggested as she went from view. While Kristen retrieved the items she found, Sam surveyed the destruction all around him. For every step within the battle ground, Sam felt worse and worse. Not only had his lecture been disproportionate to what happened, it was obvious Dean could have really gotten hurt by the maddening mod. "Dean…" He said in a whisper, bending down to the pile of broken mirror glass. Among several of the silver, shining shards were drops of blood splatter- Dean's blood.

"Here you go." Kristen extended several odds and ends in her palm: A condom, a small picture album, and a matchbook.

He stood, collecting the things from her. "Thanks… They didn't leave much."

"We'll all I found was the condom and the picture book. The matchbook is from me." She smiled.

Flicking the matches open, Sam couldn't help but notice her name, number, and a get well message. "I don't think that is evidence."

"Never hurts to advertise."

"Think you can write out some other names and contact info for me."

"Sure, but they won't be half as fun as mine." She pulled a small order pad from the bar top, thinking as she went. "I know where some of them live, but not the precise address. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. I can do a bit of leg work if I have to."

"If you don't mind, I kinda... well… you seem kinda involved with this."

"He's with me."

"Oh… I didn't know you and he were like… uh... TOGETHER."

"No... No… not that way. I mean we're partners. We investigate together."

"Whew, I was thinking it was just my luck. Two cute men come in this place and ..."

"You have no worries about that. Dean and I have been on a lot of cases together."

"Didn't set well that he got so trashed up. This is the best I can do. I hope it helps. Can I ask a favor?" Extending a few tab sheets, she made a grimace.

"Sure." Sam said, snatching the paper from her hand.

"Don't tell Howard I let you in here or helped you. I really need this job and these guys are..."

"I think I can do that... IF…You can keep my presence here a secret from the men on this list. I'm too close and I really want to take care of it. IF anyone finds me looking into it, I may have to turn it over to…"

"Another investigator."

"Yeah. I'll just call it an anonymous tip."

"Wow, thanks. Can I walk you out? I have to lock up again the office again, but…."

"I can show myself out. Thanks for the information. "

"Sure thing."

As he exited in the dark light, he strutted towards the Impala, parked in the farthest and darkest part of the lot. While he moved, Sam flicked through the names on the sheet, thinking about the best course of action. Sure, the guys on this list deserved a lesson, but the whole point of this mission was to find what was bothering Dean.

One thing for sure, it couldn't be the condom. That thing might be older than Sam. It was so worn out, that there wasn't an expiration date or it if had one once, it had since worn off.

The only other item could be the photo holder, his fingers flipped through the small wallet picture book, studying the images. "We'll this could do it." Sam chuckled.

Glancing down at a high school picture of his Mom and Dad, complete with huge sideburns, Sam wondered what his Mother saw in his Dad. The next was a picture of his Mom, Dean, and him. A giant "Welcome Sam!" banner hung above them, brightly colored and hand drawn in crayon, obviously an art project ala Dean at that time. Even the word welcome was missing the letter L.

Then one of their father in full uniform, serious and solemn, another of Sam winning his first award, and another of Sam, Dean, and a stray dog they adopted for a week or so.

Sam continued walking to the Impala, thinking of how that dog ended up saving all the Winchesters' asses. Too bad it died doing it. Somehow, he always thought John was relieved to not have another mouth to feed, but even the stoic John carved a wooden headstone for it. A single picture of their Mother, smiling and happy and Dean was blowing her a kiss.

The last few pockets contained an assortment of odd and ends: a ticket stub from a rock concert, a broken piece of a locket, smashed beyond recognition, and an old receipt, worn, faded, and ready to fall apart.

Sam slipped inside the car, tossing all of it into the passenger seat as he went. The devilish part of Sam wanted to call his brother out for being a closet sentimentalist, but Sam would feel the same way if this were his mementos. Even tough Winchesters needed a few reminders of the good things in life.

He glanced back down at the photo book, flopped open on the receipt. For the first time, he noticed the date on the small slip of paper.

"MY GOD…" He chuckled, realizing the date. "He kept it." Suddenly, Sam for all of his devilish thoughts welled with emotions. He found it impossible to not shed a tear. "Ahhh... Dean... I…"

Sam had made a promise that precise day, so many years ago, on the coldest, wettest day in 1995. All these years, Dean had remembered and Sam had yet to keep his word.


	5. The List

**Kentucky- January 1995...**

"But I have to have it!" Twelve-year-old Sam muttered in a demanding way. His chocolate brown hair shifting as he huffed out a breath.

"Get that kid out of here." The man in the meat section yelled. "If I hear the word chicken one more time!"

"I need it!"

Motioning Sam along, Janet set a quick pace as she hurried him down the neatly stocked aisles. They made their way to the curved alcove that served as a checkout. "I'd like to help you, kid. But I can't do anything for you." She popped her gum, not really concerned at all about what a pre-teen needed.

Tossing his other items down, Sam seemed almost panicked. Deep inside Sam's mind, he wondered what his big brother would do. Dean always made everything appear so easily, saying the right thing at the right time.

Upon entering this town, John and Dean had slithered off to a particularly nasty poltergeist hunt and for once Sam wasn't ordered to go along. John informed them all it was too dangerous for Sam and more time with target practice would fix that. It was the not so subtle way John ordered Sam to comply with more weapons training. As soon as the other Winchesters were gone, Sam bee-lined it to the nearest grocery story to set his own plan in motion.

"I need everything on this list."

"Yeah, and I need Friday and Saturday nights off too. Want to talk to my boss. I'm sure he would give a crap about that too." She said harshly.

Even sympathy wasn't enough to get her to give in. To most, Sam's appearance would have bought him some slack, but she only felt more disgusted. A drenched, mop top vagabond, acting like the idea of groceries was life and death, was not even a consideration on her radar. Course, he appeared to be close to death warmed over, soaking wet in a shirt that hung down too big for him, complete with a few holes for the added touch.

"What you need is some new clothes." She suggested.

"I need the stuff on my list." Sam glared at her.

"I told you once. We are out of chicken. The whole batch was recalled. You aren't going to find anything that use to cluck in any store up and down these hills. So…"

"You don't understand. It's for something special."

She grabbed the list out of Sam's hand, inspecting it for some level of importance. For the life of her, she couldn't understand how a grocery list could make a kid this upset. "Seriously, what's the big deal about chicken, eggs, flour, milk, gravy mix, potatoes, Twinkies, comic books, one leather wallet, and butter? Baby boy…"

"I'm not a baby!" Sam defiantly offered, snatching his list back.

"Oh, I think you are." She rang up the items Sam had gathered earlier.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND."

She sighed, giving Sam a weary glance. "Probably not. Hmmm… Well, I have all the rest of the stuff, but you may want to get some steaks instead." She tossed the last item in the bag. "22.00" She said as a final get out.

"It has to be chicken! Or else it will be wrong! It's really important."

"Tell you what. There is a guy about ten minutes from here that raises some hens. He might part with some, but we all think he's crazy. Do you think that chicken is worth that risk?" Finally growing tired of Sam's demands, she decided to play with him.

"Where does he live?"

"Just beyond the old mill….in the spooky house. But, you don't want to go there. It's a place of evil. Some say the woman's a witch!"

"Check me out! " Sam demanded, shoving more than enough cash to pay for the items and then running with all his might.

* * *

Approaching carefully, Sam decided to "case the place" as Dean always tells him. It seemed to make sense, but the cluck of a chicken made him more than over eager. "Boy, Dean is going to freak on this!" Sam chuckled, spotting a huge rooster planted on a fence post, sleeping he guessed.

So far, the only thing peculiar about the place was the rundown condition. The rusted mail box still had the faint sign of the last name Miller painted on the black box- more like rust color now. Secretly, Sam hoped the lady wasn't a witch, but he knew how to deal with those. And for the first time in his life, he was glad to be a knowledgeable Winchester.

Instantly, a bright light sparked out into the darkening expanse of the farm yard. "Hey! Who's out there?! I'll fill your ass full of buckshot and then kick it so far between your shoulder your ass will have a shirt collar."

Just as the speaker finished his threat, a load of buckshot splattered towards the far side of the mailbox. Viewing the flash of fire, Sam dove so quickly he would have made the speed of light jealous. His bag of groceries went down with him, scattering and spilling out.

"HARDY MILLER! You old FOOL! You hit someone!" A female voice screamed.

"For the love of PETE, woman. I missed him by a county mile."

"You just wait. One day that hair trigger. Call for help. They ain't movin'"

"It's posted no trespassing. I have every right."

"Oh shut up you old coot." She ordered as she made it for Sam, who still lay still on the ground. When she reached him, she pulled on him hard and shook. "Land sakes! You hurt a baby boy! You nincompoop!"


	6. Chicken

Sam groaned, mainly for effect than any real injury. The couple continued to volley insults at each other. All the while the man still kept his aim strong. Thankfully, the first blast missed him by a good three feet, but that didn't guarantee the next one would. He concentrated hard just like Dean taught him to take in his surroundings, waiting for the moment to move. He was fast, but no where near as fast as a shotgun blast. He had to chance the bickering as a distraction.

"Poor BABY! Are you okay?"

Backing away, Sam surveyed for any signs of the unnatural. He didn't have time for his daring escape.

"Don't be scared. I won't let him hurt you."

"He don't look like a baby to me."

"Shut your mouth." She barked harshly.

If it meant no more rounds heading his way, Sam was willing to milk it. He wasn't even going to argue about being a baby at this point. He groaned louder, pushing away a bit sloppier for show. The move didn't go unnoticed.

"Now, sweetie pie, are you okay?"

"I guess?" Sam uttered a bit confused. "Just twisted my leg a bit. I'll be okay. You're not a witch are you?"

"Those dang blasted kids in town are at it again... Messing with me..." Hardy continued to rant, murmuring curse words and damnations to the teenagers.

"Don't pay him any mind dear. Now, why are you all the way out here in the dark?" She asked as she gathered up his groceries in a bag. The harsh tone she had with her husband disappeared. Instead, honey seemed to dip on each word with a melodious turn on the end of each word.

"He shouldn't have been out here in the first place. Damn pranksters..."

"HUSH THAT UP! Can't you see the boy's scared?"

Again, Sam wasn't really scared, but he couldn't quite figure out the Millers. He hoped they were the Millers, taking a chance that the mail box had the right name. Still, it didn't seem like a time to argue the point as Hardy still waved his gun about, ranting a mile a minute.

"I... I just needed some chicken. Mrs. Miller, please."

"OH SO! NOW WE KNOW! You were going to steal from me!"

"No...No... But I really need it."

"Hardy!"

"Don't shush me woman! This here is my property..."

"AHEM! This is my family land and unless you want to sleep with the damn chickens, you'll get inside, put another log on that fire to get this boy warm and keep your trap shut."

For several minutes, Hardy eyeballed her, giving her the most ferocious scowl. For whatever reason, the man huffed and stalked back towards the cabin.

"Now, let's talk about you. Do you have a name?"

"Sam."

"We'll Sam, I'm Gina and my worse half is Hardy. This is our farm and as long as I have my way you'll be okay. And for your information, I always get my way." She gave Sam a wink.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam offered.

"Oh, manners. Did your momma teach you that?"

"No, ma'am. My mom died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry darling. I didn't mean... So it's you and your daddy?"

"Uh-huh. And Dean. He's the best big brother ever."

"Why in the world would any parent in their right mind let there kid wander on. Seems like poor upbringing to me." Hardy stared from the doorway, obviously eavesdropping.

"SHUT UP! You don't know anything!" Sam defended, visibly upset.

"Don't press your luck old man!" Gina warned. "Now, I'm afraid he's right. No one should let a child run unsupervised."

"I'm not a baby and my brother taught me to take care of myself. I just had to have..."

"CHICKEN!" Hardy mocked, but stopped when Gina gave him a look.

"Why in the world would you need a chicken?" She exclaimed.

"It's for my brother. I need to get this for him."

"Probably for some SATANIC RITUAL!" The man smarted.

"No! Don't you ever say that!" Sam demanded, red-faced and upset.

"Easy, easy. Don't you pay attention to him. You tell everything to Mrs. Gina, okay?"

Scrutinizing her for several seconds, Sam perched his lips, unwilling to say anything. With a few glances back at Hardy, he sure wasn't going to say the truth. Secretly, he wondered if it would mean anything to a stranger. How can you tell someone that your big brother was so affected by you mother's death and for one day you wanted to give him a part of that back. How could he explain the importance of all the small pieces when there was so many facets that even he didn't understand yet?

"Come whisper it to me. We won't tell old bristle britches." She smiled, looking at him deeply and warmly.

The insult gave Sam reassurance that maybe this woman would understand what he was trying to do for his brother. For once in his life, he would make the world good for Dean. Slowly he leaned forward, relaying his mission in a tone barely audible.

Hardy, annoyed with not being included, threw his hands on his hips, mocking and tilting his head back and forth. He was about to open his mouth when his wife suddenly threw her arms around the boy, hugging with all her might.

"Gina?"

"You go get that Road Island Red." She sniffled.

"What in all that is holy..."

"Just do as I say." She said sharply, and then softened. "Just do as I say." This time she glanced at him, her eyes begging.

"Alright suit yourself."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Sam started to apologize when the woman let him go.

"Oh, Sweet baby. You didn't." She wiped at Sam's cheek. "That is the saddest and most beautiful thing I have ever heard."

"I... Do you think he'll like it?"

"I'll think he'll cherish it always. Do you know how to make it?"

"I looked it up in the library and I..."

"Let's get you inside, another storm is coming up and we don't want you getting everything all wet. You may not believe it, but I have lots of experience with chickens."

"Never would have guessed." Sam chuckled wryly, letting some of the emotional pressure go.

"And you let ol' Gina take care of this. This will be the best surprise ever. I'll make sure of it."

"I can't ask you..."

"You aren't asking. You ever pluck a chicken before?"

"No ma'am."

"Then I think you're going to need help."

* * *

**Author's note: I've moved and I have found that I really hate boxes at the moment! Is Box Hell close to Dean's Hell. I could use a cute neighbor- one that didn't show off her thong in her pants with Sassy on the the back. NOT GOOD, BELIEVE ME, but I can report daily on the undie color. Its such a joy. And then there is the woman who walks her dog in nothing but a towel! Dude, I can't make stuff like this up! All I need is Jerry Springer or Maury to give one of the guys a paternity test! PEOPLE ARE SO WEIRD!**

**But, anyway, I still have no internet access set up at the house, but I will try to update at a friend's place when I can. Catch you all later!**


	7. Dumplings and Trolls

**Author's note: If you stick with this story, you will get to the importance of the chicken at the end and it makes even me cry. Its cute emo. Special thanks to Squee who make me have this idea when she said she wanted Chicken and Potatoes for dinner. This just popped in my scary little head.

* * *

**

Fascinated eyes inspected as ladle after ladle of thick, intoxicating goodness swirled in Mr. Miller's pot.

"Land sakes, have you never seen anyone cook like this before?"

"No, ma'am. Except Bobby, he makes beans and onions. Ewgh!"

"Nothing wrong with a good onion, it'll pull hair on your chest," Hardy groused.

"I thought I told you to hush!"

"I plucked your damn chicken for you. Don't hush me in my own house, woman."

At this point, the Miller's bickering instilled amusement in Sam. He had never met anyone like them and would dare say he would never find a pair like them again. He smiled broadly, wondering if this was what it meant to have a real home.

"Baby, you okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now stop that! You call me Gina or Ginny if you like."

"Uh..."

"No arguing... You can see I have lots of practice at it."

Again his face lit up with a smile and his empty stomach rumbled. "Sorry, ma'a...Ginny."

"In some circles that is a compliment. When was the last time you ate?"

"Dunno."

"Honey child, you should always eat three square meals."

"That's what Dean's says, but he said its better to have 4."

"He may be right. Judging from the height of you, I'd say you both are bustling out like bean sprouts."

He wasn't sure what Gina meant with the beans but he imagined she meant they were growing boys. What did a hunter know about beans, other than he disliked Bobby's bean and onions. "I'm almost as tall as Dean. Dad says I take after my uncle on Mom's size. One day, I will be bigger than Dean. Just don't tell him."

"It's our secret."

"Ah fiddlesticks and poppycock! Never heard such nonsense in MY house in all MY born days." Hardy offered.

Exchanging a smile, Gina and Sam both chuckled.

"Never you mind with your fiddlesticks or you will be fiddling on your own."

With a huff, Hardy promptly snapped his mouth shut and gave her the evil eye.

"And don't you sass me with a look either." She said with a chuckle and a wink to Sam.

"Here, you eat some of this while it's hot."

"No, ma'am…"

"AHEM!"

"Ginny," Sam corrected. "I have to wait for Dean. It's for him."

"I don't think your brother would want you to starve, especially over my world famous chicken and dumplings."

"I have to wait for Dean. It's special. Remember?"

"I know, sweet boy, I know. Anyway, you grab hold of one of my homemade biscuits in any case. That's not part of the deal is it?"

"No," Sam reasoned as she handed him a large, warm, buttered biscuits about the size of a grapefruit. As he began to scarf down the rich, homemade goodness, Gina busied herself by dipping large scoops full of chicken and dumplings in an old covered casserole dish. In his grocery bag, she carefully placed several more overly wrapped biscuits in shiny tinfoil in Sam's grocery bag.

"I have some wrapping paper around here; we could decorate those gifts if you want." She offered, noticing the comics and wallet.

"Yes, please." Sam's cheeks puff up full of biscuit. Practically brimming with excitement and satisfaction, Sam watched as the last ladle full poured into the dish. No matter how many birthdays that had passed before this one, this year would be different.

"There! All done! My we have worked really hard on his. Now, I have my own surprise." As she spoke, she leaned over, bending low to the bottom of her oven and pulled out a small cake. "Every birthday boy needs a cake, don't you think."

"Wow!" Sam muttered, giving her a hug and then shying away. "This is going to be the best birthday ever."

"I don't have any icing or anything."

"No, it's great! Dean will love it. This year, he'll tell me the story and I'll surprise him."

"I dare say, he will be touched," Gina wiped a bit of sentimentality away from the corner of her eye. "How old will he be?"

"16"

"Almost a man."

"He's still my big brother."

"Yes, he is, sweetness. And I bet you'll always be close. I would have been proud to have a boy like you." She blushed. "You want Hardy to drive you back to town?"

With Hardy's grumble, Sam knew the man was less enthused about the prospect. "No ma'am. If Dad sees me with a stranger, he'll have my hide."

I like the father!" Hardy mentioned, but shut up again when Gina gave him her best don't you dare look.

"You get off that kiester and drive this boy home!"

--

As soon as Hardy pulled onto the main drag of the town, Sam thought it best to get out before the man tossed him out. Plus the threat of John seeing him with strangers added that extra incentive to be found on his own. He might get in trouble for being out, but since it was for Dean, his dad would soften the punishment. Even as forgetful, angry, and as cold as John could be, even he couldn't deny Dean on his birthday, not when it was out there on the table. To hell with Dad's orders- today was going to be a Winchester first in a long time.

"You sure this is where you want out?" Hardy asked, even sounding a bit concerned.

"Yeah, I have to get a candle at the store. I forgot earlier. Thanks."

The man eye-balled him wondering about the truth of the statement. "I can drive you all the way."

"No thanks, I'll be fine. The street is well lit and it's only a few feet from the store. Thanks again and thank Mrs. Gina for me." Sam smiled, hopped out, carefully slung his grocery bag, containing the cake, biscuits, wrapped presents, over his arm, and then held onto the casserole dish with both hands. The smell was intoxicating even through the glass lid. Finally, he felt balanced enough to kick the car door shut and nod his chin as a way to say goodbye.

"You take care now and keep in touch." Hardy gave Sam a soft look, almost wishful, before he even thought of driving off.

"I got it from here. Thanks, sir."

As the grizzly old man drove onward, Sam couldn't help noticing that Hardy glanced out his old car window a few times. Whatever reason, Sam was better for knowing the Millers. He had seen too much ugly in the world and to find a small bit of kindness in the most unlikely of places warmed him. Sam smiled widely, thinking that Hardy was a lot like Bobby. Hard on the outside, but soft inside. Different men, but still deep within them they really did care.

"Oh GOD! It's chicken Boy!"

Sam knew the voice all too well from the general sense of apathy that even clung to those words.

"I just need a candle." Sam informed Janet, who stood outside the general store's entrance, smoking the longest and thinnest cigarette possible like it was oh so fashionable. Next to her were three men, that he could only imagine being equal to three trolls who hide under bridges.

"Hangin' around those cluckin' freaks."

"Cluking freaks!" One of the Neanderthals mocked while the other one started to crow like a rooster.

"Whatcha doing, chicken boy?" The tallest one grumbled and Janet grabbed his arm in a way that said "look at my strong man."

"Nothing to concern you."

"You like playing with the farm animals, huh?"

With more important things on his mind, Sam turned away, rolling his eyes. He would forgo the candle to avoid this pack of idiots. These were the ones that Dean would call bottom feeders.

"What's wrong Colonel Sanders? You got some chicken choking to do."

"Yank yank!" The fatter of the friends muttered.

"Jerk! Jerk!" Chimed in the other, pimplier faced, boy.

"That little punk drove me nuts during my shift, Eddie. You tell him what for." Janet commanded.

It took all the patience within him not to put it Eddie, Janet, and the two chucklers in their proper place.

"You like to play with the chicken." Eddie smarted.

"No, he was looking for his chicken." Janet countered.

"Ahh... that's sad," said the pimple teen. "Missing his tiny chicken."

"Maybe he lost it in the sheep." Eddie screamed out a laugh, poking his moron friend's in the side. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" Eddie yelled, slamming into Sam's back.

After the impact, Sam managed to keep his footing, but now his blood boiled. "Listen, you slack-jawed, missing chromosome, sheep molesting asshole! If I wanted to learn about your local past times of humpin' sheep and circle jerkin', I would have rented the porn with your girlfriend." Sam said in his best Dean impersonation.

"You little puke!" Eddie hollered, jumping squarely towards Sam. The other two buddies weren't far behind. In short work, the sound of a dish breaking echoed off the sidewalk and Sam was lying in a thick pile of gravy and glass.

"No...No," Sam said seeing the broken lid of the casserole dish from the flat position on his back while punches and kicks landed in any exposed place he couldn't protect. He lashed out landing blows of his own before two of them held him down for the third.


	8. Caught

Beyond the fact that two no named cretins- Well, Sam didn't have anything other than pimple and dough boy to call them – restrained him, he fought beyond the strength and ability of a 12 year old, getting a few good blows in as he struggled. If this fight had been one on one, Eddie may have found himself in serious trouble, getting a good lesson that Sam's fist could be just a sharp as the pre-teen's tongue. All those years of scuffling and sparring with Dean had come in handy on many occasions, usually with something more gruesome than this band of punching hecklers. With the current odds, Sam had no hope of winning. His Back flattened on the ground. More times than not, he freed a hand or leg, lashing out as best he could against the horrible odds. Each time he was rewarded by being slammed a bit harder in the cement and dirt. No blow or stomp kept him from defending himself.

Sam raised his head and wiggled one arm free, giving the heavier set boy a good punch to the jaw. His leg flew upwards, nailing Eddie in the nose with the first good kick.

"You little freak punk!" Eddie yelled, wiping his bloody nose on his arm sleeve. "I'm gonna kick yer ass!"

"Told you he was a weirdo!" Janet added, getting closer to see Sam struggle.

His resistance was short lived and his hands were twisted back and pinned beneath the teenagers' weight. Thankfully, he was at least spared the sight of Janet destroying the remaining contents of his grocery bag, jumping up and down over the cake and biscuits in spite, getting her bored jolly fulfilled. In the matter of 30 seconds, Sam's birthday plans laid destroyed. He focused more on the fist and boots gnawing at his flesh, but his heart wasn't really in it. That might as well shattered with the disappointment of the broken casserole dish. He didn't even care when he heard a grumble of thunder in the sky right before it opened up in a deluge of rain. Down it came, more and more until Sam could barely see. Then the grey above rumbled an ominous continual groan.

He pushed against the two goons, kicking Janet's boyfriend again. This time in what Dean called the cherry picker. Eddie fell back harder and faster than the kick should have warranted. For a moment, Sam wondered if the Millers came back and they were witches who were helping him. For the longest time, no one could really see clearly, only vague shadows of movement. The rain poured down so thick that they could barely see through the sheet of water. Suddenly, they all heard the teen's skull bang against metal. Then it grew quiet.

A hot burst of stale exhaust slashed through the air along with a steady grumble of thunder. But it wasn't nature sounding at all, but the roaring motor of the Impala. Sam was never so happy to hear anything in his life almost like a superhero coming to save him. With Eddie off of him, he fought harder while the teens holding him stood almost awestruck- dumfounded as to what just happened.

When the rain slacked down, a teenager stood like a cement statue above Eddie. His brown hair still stood up slightly on his head like grass in a field, even though it was soaking wet. Dean stood, huffing with his fist now bloody.

Eddie's friends fell slack jawed as to how to react. More likely none of them had a thought without Eddie telling them what to do. Plus, this new opponent had just beaten the crap out of the biggest badass in town with no effort.

"LET MY BROTHER GO!"

Dean's hand flew up, pulling the shotgun at his waistband. Seeing Sam with torn clothes and blood on his face and arms caused a sudden spike of blue hot rage to flare. He twirled the gun, eyes blazing.

They gaped at Dean, as if realizing their peril. Sam, now free, thought he heard one of his captors whimper, which seemed odd to him since that shotgun contained only rock salt. He didn't get time to think of anything else before all of his hecklers, sans Eddie who was still sleeping off a meeting with Dean's fists, ran as if the devil himself had just threatened them.

"Sammy!" Dean began shouting at him before the attackers had a chance to disappear down the waterlogged street. Sam was still lying in the mud when Dean shot off a salt round, landing it straight in Janet's rear end. "Sammy! Get up!"

The rain sprinkled more into the muddy dirt piles, collecting a puddle under Sam's back. He shoved up to sit and groaned as he looked down at his mud streaked and ruined pants and shirt, while Dean yelled a barrage of questions at him. Most went unnoticed as Sam glanced back at the ruined chicken and dumplings and demolished plans. He was hurting like hell and had nothing to really show for it now.

"Great. Just great," Dean grumbled. "Dad's going to kill you…then me….I told him we could leave you behind… you were old enough and ….What the hell are you doing out here!" Fighting with guys twice your size! Fighting a ton of guys twice your size! What were you thinking!"

Sam didn't answer, but cowered slightly to keep the rain out of his face. Dean collapsed in the mud, concern taking over some of his anger. His face fluffed out like a frightened puffer fish.

"Sammy? Are you hurt? Look at me…" He forced Sam to raise his head, inspecting the cuts and bruises already appearing. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Dammit are you alright?!"

Somewhere Dean's voice startled Sam back to the moment and he gave his big brother a sympathetic look. He groaned in frustration, kicking some mud as he tried to stand, lashing out. The murky messy splashed Dean and the car.

"Hey watch it!" Dean said with a sigh of relief following his words. "Dad's going to kill you for running around while we were gone. Get up right now! Move it. He won't take long to get us some take out. Dude, we got to get a good cover story or he'll have both of our hides!"

Dean yanked on Sam, while his little brother struggled against him long enough to sift through his destroyed mission. Carefully, he picked through the mess only to find the wallet intact."

"Leave that junk... MOVE NOW!" He ordered as he forced Sam to his feet.

"It's not junk."

"Sorry, but it is now… it's not important…"

"It is!"

"It was…." Dean tried to sound sorry, but he knew they would be sorrier once John saw Sam. "Come on now."

Dean shoved his little brother, knocking him back into the Impala's seat. Sam didn't notice the car door slamming or the engine gunning while he twirled the leather wallet in his fingers, wiping off the plastic sleeve that still covered it. At least Dean would get something this year. Secretly Sam wasn't worried about their father. John getting some take out usually meant John going to get hammered at a bar. He huffed, trying to be strong and upbeat for Dean's sake, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He still had to salvage something for Dean's birthday.

**Later...**

"Dude, you're a mess." Dean said as he swung the motel door open, shedding his jacket and searching for drying clothes for both of them.

"So are you." Sam bantered back, flopping on his bed. "Nice black eye."

"Oh... poltergeist…bad mofo too... you should have seen this one... like major bad mofo. Get cleaned up before Dad gets home."

"I don't care."

"Please… not today… not…"

"Why not today Dean?" Sam waited for Dean to admit it was his birthday, but like always he never did.

"Just cause… cause… I hate when you and Dad fight. Just cool it while I think of something. We are so so dead."

"Stop saying that."

"We're mostly already dead."

"We ain't dead yet. Stop it," Sam demanded. "Here… I got something I want to show you."

"What dude?"

Sam was about to offer Dean the wallet when John's voice boomed louder than the backfire of a dying car.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

"Sir, I can explain." Dean announced quickly and sharply.

"You can? Hmmm…It better be a damn good one."


	9. Divided

John darted his eyes from one son to the other, boggling at their silence. "You two are soaked to the bone! Dean I just left you 15 minutes ago- dry and driving the car. Care to explain how you screwed that up?"

"He didn't do anything." Sam barked equally as loud as his father. "

"Well, sir..." Dean began to formulate some lie that was just ordinary enough, but just wild enough to get their Dad on their side, at least enough to defuse the anger away from a severe punishment.

"You know your lies always start with a well sir."

"No they don't." Sam defended.

"We'll get to you in a moment. Don't you worry, Sam."

John gave him the all-knowing disapproving eye. Unbeknownst to Sam he was inspecting them both for injuries, but Dean gave his father the "we're both okay" face.

"Dean! Report right now."

"No! Don't you take this out on him," Sam started. "This is my fault."

"You bet it was!" Dean confirmed, taking John's focus off of Sam. "You should have seen it Dad! I got back and Sam waited up for us, cause we were late. He was about to call out Bobby and send out a search party. But we made it back before, so he tried to help me square away the weapons. Somethin' about us needing some sleep. He told me I looked like hell." Dean offered an excuse his Dad would take pride in.

"Oh, did you now" John beamed, not really buying it all yet.

"No..." Sam defied the story, all the while Dean stepped on his foot to tell him to shut up.

"And his face- did he happen to have a gun go off in his face? Huh Dean?"

"No sir. That's why he's all moody. This huge guy... bigger than you...see...I was uh... hitting the head... and Sam was outside taking stock for the next hunt when this dude starts picking on his chic. Totally jerk. Sam steps in and pops the guy one. I get out there -the chic is running off and the ass is beating up on Sam. I mean DUDE! Major action... but Sam scraps him good... just too much for us to handle."

"And the rock salt on your shirt?"

"Just wait! I'm getting to that part." Dean smiles his best cheesy smile. "So I had the gun still on me. I know... I know... sloppy."

"Extra chores later."

"NO!" Sam demands. "He won't!"

Dean flashed Sam the look that screamed DUDE and that extra choices would be lucky for them both. "Yeah and I put a round of rock salt in the dude's ass. Never seen anyone run like that before."

Sam and John both ignored Dean' story now.

"Killer right Dad? Sam did us proud."

"And I guess you get to join Dean in extra work and I think we need more combat training for you until you learn to not get…" Dean's story was plausible and had just the right amount of bragging the Dean did in all his hunting stories, but this was too reckless. He needed them safe, not fighting things or people they weren't ready for.

"NO! I WON'T!"

"Sam! Please…." Dean urged, soft and pleading.

"You think you run this family?"

Sam eyes started to twitch as his hands made tight fists. Then he screamed as loud as he possibly could. "ARGGGGGGGG! You make me crazy! What family?"

"Dad... can't we just eat and..."

"This one- this family, Sam!"

"You mean Dean! Dean is my family. You're just a visitor."

"Young man. You are damn lucky..."

"Yeah... we are… Lucky that we don't see you more often. Yeah, you're right. Cause then maybe Dean could see that you don't give a damn about anyone but you. Tell me Dad, what day is this?! Do you even know?"

"Sam... please... don't... you can't fight all the time."

"If you won't stand up to him, I will."

"Your brother respects me."

"No, he loves you and I don't know why. Every damn year you forget us. You forget him."

"I could never forget either of you." John said emotion building.

"That's absolute crap! You ignore him every year!!" Sam interrupted, a bit maniacally. Every year- no Christmas- no July 4th. Dean makes sure I have something every year on my birthday. Hell, I didn't even know the date of his for all of the fake IDs you have given us. But this year, I know… and you have no right to tell me to respect my family when you can't be there for us!" There was a long awkward pause after Sam's outburst.

"It's okay Sammy...he doesn't have to..."

"YES HE DOES! He forgets your birthday every damn time and I wasn't beaten up saving someone. I wanted…" He said softly to Dean then turned anger back at his father. "You can't tell me what to do cause you're never here to tell me what to do. When I have problem I'm on my own or Dean helps me. Strangers I met hours ago helped me more! Damn, Bobby is there for us more than you. Your own sons! You..."

"Boy. You best shut your mouth..."

"Dad, please..." Dean steps in between the shouting match. His green eyes overcast with glassiness. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's not important."

Somehow the older boy's pleas gave John pause and he simply glared at Sam that this discussion wasn't over. Dean took the cue that John was now in line and turned the same begging expression on Sam.

"Sammy...I..."

"Don't ask me..."

"Please…I know... but just for now... okay?"

The boy sighed, letting Dean have his way, but gave John an equally threatening glare.

Blowing air past his lips, Dean sounded a bit like an exasperated Mr. Ed. "Good... let's eat... I'm starved."

"Here..." John said, handing Dean the Impala's keys.

"OH... I almost forgot I have to square away the car."

"You're old enough now to handle the responsibility."

Sam was about to protest the idea, but John spoke first. "Remember be good to her and she's be really good to you. I expect you to clean and wax her every week and you have to teach Sam how to drive her."

"Yes sir."

This really got Sam's goat, more chores for Dean, especially after the argument they just had. "You can't be serious!"

"Think you can do that?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, then put your keys away and eat now."

"Sir?"

"I said put your keys away."

"But these are yours."

"Not anymore... She's yours to take care of."

"What? You know I will take care of your car."

"No you won't." Sam ordered, boring an imaginary hole in John's forehead.

"Did I just speak in Latin?"

"No sir?" Dean muttered confused.

"Then go take care of YOUR car?"

"She's mine? Really mine?"

You're giving Dean the Impala?" Sam puzzled.

"He is 16 right?" he offered just to prove to Sam he did know something about his children. There was no malice, just a reaffirmation that Sam didn't know everything

"Yes sir. I am."

"All boys need a car at 16."

"She's really mine... Really?"

"And all that comes with added responsibility."

Dean's eyes got big and his hand shook so hard that he almost dropped the keys in the floor. But his fingers weren't about to let go of those, not in a million years.

"WHOOO! SAM!! She's mine... COME ON!" Dean jumped up, pulling his little brother by the wet, muddy collar.

"What about dinner?" John asked a small light of joy in his eyes as he watched Dean's excitement.

"Wait a minute…" Sam started, trying to grasp what had just happened, pulling away from his brother

"COME ON! We're going for a drive!" Dean was grabbing Sam's jacket , tossing it at his little brother, all while he stuffed a dinner roll in his mouth as he ran out the door.

"Hey, Sam!" John barked.

"Here it comes," Sam mumbled, thinking of the lecture or threat that always followed their arguments. This time he wasn't going to take it. He was going to get the last word if it killed him.


	10. The Happy Day

"Why? Why do you treat us…? You think this makes up for…" Sam started.

John's stare silenced any protest Sam had. If that hadn't been enough the words the boy was about to hear would nearly floor him.

"Sometimes you are too smart for your own good. And it hurts like hell when you're right."

John gave him a sour smile, a brief glimpse that Sam had really hurt his Dad. It was the first time he confirmed John really did have feelings about something.

"You still need to learn some respect... I just want to protect you."

"DUDE! COME ON!!" Dean sprinted back in. He didn't wait for any argument or understanding to occur, not that he really noticed this moment. For the first time in a long time, Dean was exceptionally excited. His heart beat only to feel the car purring in his hands, and he practically dragged Sam out to his car.

* * *

When the rain stopped, the boys soon found themselves on a grassy plain, with water surrounding it in multiple mud puddles. The first thing Dean did was plant himself on the hood, lying on the Impala's sleek, and rain clean surface. He stared up at the night sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stars and moon. His neck had been straining on the drive over, watching the rain pour down from the grey clouds, but now the world was comfortable- cool, breezy, and clean- almost like a fresh start. Dean really loved the night. He was just in his element in the darkness. It was much easier to deal with monsters, creatures, and homicidal demon when no one was around to ask you what you were doing or call you a loony.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Since when do talk about anything?" Sam asked naturally.

"Suit yourself."

Dean felt bad that he had yelled at Sam after that fight. He knew Sam would never cause a scuffle if he could avoid it. The kneejerk reaction was to yell first and worry more.

"What's up with you?" Dean asked. "Anything new?"

"Nothing!"

"Its' going to rain again."

"Who cares?"

"I do."

"I have a car."

"Is that all you care about?"

"Okay, don't go all Maudlin on me… what the hell is up with you?"

"It's stupid sounding now."

A tense silence settled between the two boys, the only sound coming from a rumble of real thunder. A new storm was approaching them. Just then Dean saw the glimmer of a single star, faint through a smaller wisp of clouds.

"Dude, I so need to show you about stars… you can get direction by them."

"I know," Sam muttered, leaning again the passenger door, not looking at his brother.

"Oh yeah! I forgot… you're the genius…" He chuckled.

"Don't say that. Don't act dumb."

"I'm not." Dean offered calmly. "It's just easy to forget you don't need me so much. I use to have to help you with everything. Look, if you squint you can make out the north star."

Sam considered his brothers words for a moment and pondered if Dean was bothered by more than he ever realized. He started to speak, but Dean beat him to the punch.

"Are you going to stew down there all night or enjoy my car with me? Dude come on this is killer."

He blinked for a second, thinking about Dean's offer and he had to admit sitting down right now sounded heavenly. He scooted up, lying next to Dean, letting his head fall on the windshield.

"Dad would kill us if he saw us on the hood."

"Like Dad has to know."

"You tell Dad everything."

"Nope. You just think I do. Did I tell him about Tulsa and you and Missy…?"

"How did you know…"

"Dude, I wrote the book on girls… One… never tell them you love them- makes them psycho."

"What if you do love them?"

"Not possible… I haven't found it to be true."

"What about Mom…"

"Mom wasn't a girl… she was Mom… and special…"

"That's good logic."

"Anyway the second thing you need to know about girls… and listen cause this will keep you out of trouble…Don't tell them you are going to call... cause they will tell everyone else and you'll never see any…"

"I don't think I need…"

"So you might as well spill it… Were you out there trying to get some action? Is that why those guys jumped you? Were you making time with the cute cashier and the…"

"No. It wasn't like that. Just assholes….."

"Well, Dad is still going to punish us. We just won't know when."

"Who cares?" Sam fumed and jumped down. "And why should he punish you. You didn't do anything."

"Aww… come on…we're a team." Dean was brought out of his thoughts as his brother opened the door and deposited himself in his seat, slamming the door closed. Dean sat bewildered for a few more moments before leaping down, landing like he was in a James Bond film and hopping in the driver seat. All that was missing was the cool theme music. Starting the car and pulling out back onto the highway, Dean stepped on the gas pedal and floored it, heading towards the motel.

"You're certainly in a mood. I don't want you and Dad to fight when we get back, okay? Dad does his best to take care of us and…."

"But Dad doesn't take care of us. You take care of us. You always have! All Dad does is bark orders at us and never notices anything. He just shuts down." Sam sputtered and yelled, falling silent after his outburst.

Dean had to marvel at Sam's words. Taking care of Sam was his job- what his Dad wanted and what his mother would have wanted. He swelled with pride to have that honor. "Don't worry… you're not that much trouble. A pain in the ass, but you don't take up too much room." He chuckled, trying to make Sam feel better.

"That's not the point Dean."

"Seriously dude, Dad may not always remember the small things... but he loves us and protects us."

"Your birthday isn't a small thing." Sam muttered under his breath so low Dean strained to hear, but it was lost in the roar of the engine.

"Good excuse with the birthday thing…. Saved us a bigger punishment." He offered, changing the subject.

"It wasn't an excuse. That's what I was doing when you found me."

"You were getting your ass kicked."

"But that was after I……."

Sam shot him an annoyed look, but he was more annoyed with John and himself. Dean kept his stare on the road in front of him, casting sideways glances at his brother. He stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his brother's eye, hiding any emotional response deep inside. He hated seeing Sam so conflicted. "This was easier when you were 4. You were easier to make happy. And, dude, it's not like I care about birthdays anyway…"

"Birthday are supposed to be happy! You always celebrate mine. And this year I found out when yours was. You always hide it and I finally got the records. You shouldn't be so alone on your birthday."

"It's not important. I gave up on stuff a long time ago. I kinda expect it. We have too much to worry about other than party hats and cakes."

"But you once did. Dean….Dean I remember. Every year when I was little you use to tell me. It's not really a birthday if you don't celebrate with family. Like your best one. I remember."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you think I would forget… like you did… You just quit having birthdays..."

"Forget what…" Dean played innocent, trying not to take himself where Sam was hell-bent on leading him. You were just dreamin' stuff up… don't worry about it. How bout some killer tunes?! You can even pick."

"No. I don't know how old you were, but I was really young. I had woke up from a bad dream… found you sitting in the corner and you…I had never seen you cry before. Scared the hell out of me. I crawled on your lap and you told me it was your birthday. We split a damn a Twinkie… blew out a match… then you told me about the best birthday you ever had and that you didn't need any more cause that one was perfect. Every year… you told me the story every year and then you just stopped."

"Cause I grew up." Dean's voice shook a bit.

"Dean," Sam muttered, drawing out his brother's name "It's not right. I just wanted you to have a new one to get back that day. The last birthday before Mom died. You told me how she surprised. She made cake and your favorite dinner…chicken and dumplings. That Dad helped you open your presents and he laughed. Dad doesn't laugh Dean. I thought… I thought…."

Dean slammed on the brakes, giving Sam a look that said don't go on. He turned off the engine and paused, needing to come up with some excuse on the fly. "That's enough. I was just a kid… it's all so stupid and important when you are that young."

Sam held an incredulous gaze on his brother. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard! You're human Dean and sometimes you need … you need …"

"I'm fine. Think we can start driving again and get home."

"Not yet. 'm sorry about your birthday… sorry I ruined it… Sorry I got in a brawl, sorry I fought Dad. You just seemed sadder and sadder all the time. I thought maybe I could give us all something good like Mom."

"You always do Sam. You can stop now."

"I tried to get you something honest. Maybe you think it's stupid, but…. I wanted to recreate that day for you. When Mom made you chicken and dumplings with a river of gravy. You said she was the best cook ever and that she got you lots of presents and made you a banner… Dad played air guitar with you. You got 4 matchboxes and took a marker to paint them all black. Mom kissed you a lot and you were mad cause you kept slipping off her lap."

"Cause you took it all... " Dean tried not to let his mind wander back to those happy days. "I appreciate the thought, but it's all over now. You don't have to worry about it."

"And she told you that I was coming soon. You told me I was the best present you ever got and that nothing would ever top that. Maybe Mom gave me to you so I could… I could be like her and make sure we have good times too."

"I thought she was getting fat… actually I thought she ate a watermelon. Shows what I knew."

"You said you were happy then… you and Dad and Mom and it was different… warm….I wanted you to have that back. So I got you some comics and a wallet for presents and I went to make the chicken and dumplings and things went nuts. I wanted to recreate that birthday…. And I had it all. Thought you would be so proud of me."

"I'm always proud of you."

"I had the food in my hands and it got ruined… look I promise…one day you'll have that day again…."

Sam dug the receipt out of his pocket, offering it as proof. Then he viciously shoved the wallet out for Dean, who just stared at the items like they were going to do a trick if he watched long enough.

"See I tried. I got it all for you."

"Really?" Dean questioned, glaring at the receipt in his hands, trying to not turn to a pile of mush in front of Sam. Dean sighed. Sometimes he forgot his brother was still just a 12-year-old squirt.

"Now it's all ruined. I screwed up…." He glanced up sharply, as if he was afraid to see how hurt Dean would be now.

Feeling sudden pangs of something Dean couldn't explain, he scooted closer to Sam and grabbed his little brother in a full on hug.

"Dean?"

"This is great Sammy… really… don't feel bad… this was….was…"

"But I messed up all of it…"

"No you didn't. That's not important…." Dean pushed away, collecting himself. After all 16 year olds were not supposed to be all sissy about such things. "This is more than enough. I needed a new wallet. Last one got chewed up by Bobby's bulldog."

"You mean it?"

"Yep…. It's perfect. But, you know what else my birthday needs?"

"Name it!" Sam eagerly listened. "We'll find it."

"Donuts!"

"You want a donut?"

"No…" Dean smiled as he turned the engine over and revved it, taking off fast down the highway before veering off into the nearest open field.

"These are donuts! Watch and learn little bro. Dad said I needed to teach you!"

He spun the wheel around as both he and Sam screamed, laughing like two fools.

"Dad is going to kill us. Stop…. You're going to get in trouble."

"Who says he needs to know." Dean offered, spinning faster until both of them were sure to be sick. Mud flew all over the place, covering the car's black exterior. Finally, he blared out rock music from the radio just for an added sensory effect.

"Happy Birthday Dean!" Sam screamed over the guitar riff, laughing as his body spun like it was out of control.

* * *

**Author's Note: One more chapter and this one will close. Hope you have enjoyed it and love the wemo. Winchester +wee+ emo Wemo! Okay... that was dorky, but you know... a few reviews might knock the goofy right out of me. :D**


	11. Promise Kept?

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* * *

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NOW...

Metal hinges shrieked, begging for a good shot of oil. The further Sam swung the door, the more the rusted pins demanded for him to stop, but what else could he expect from a place called the Aroma motel. He shifted the bags in his arms, keeping it all balanced, as he slipped silently and carefully inside. The curtains were still drawn as he left them, but some sunlight spilled in enough for Sam to realize Dean was still dead asleep. When the door started to close, he cringed from dread that the hinge squeal might wake Dean, which ultimately had to happen soon anyway. Especially, for what Sam had in mind.

After setting several take out bags on the table, Sam finally pushed around the mess that was Dean's wallet. Before he didn't remember, but it was the one he gave his big brother the day he turned 16. He carefully inspected to make sure nothing was left and shifted all the recovered items into a slick new leather wallet.

When he finished, Sam crept over to the bed, not intending to wake Dean as gently as he could. But the view was too priceless and for a brief second he chuckled and wondered if he should snap a pic with his cell phone. Dean had drifted to sleep with a half full beer in between his legs and a half eaten cookie barely holding on in one hand and a remote in the other. After deciding against future blackmail, Sam carefully eased the beer bottle.

Waking with a start, Dean's eyes snapped open. He raised his hand in defense, almost knocking the bottle from Sam's hand.

"Whoa! Watch it there Rocky." So much for the subtle approach.

"What... what are you doing?"

"Trying to help you."

"Dude! Give me a little more warning next time!" Dean sighed.

"You got in that fight."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to heal in peace without the Sam, patented by the feds, lecture. I think I'll live without you tellin' me what I can and can't do. I got the crap kicked out of me. It's happened before and guess what it'll happen again. Just part of the job."

"You really developed a talent for it." Sam said softer and more amused.

When Dean caught sight of Sam's smirk, he readied himself for the usual banter. The threats and name calling were a tradition between them and in this instant a welcome relief. Yet, at the moment Dean was a bit confused in Sam's change of tone.

"You look like hell."

"Let's not go there… The word Hell just…"

"Yeah…. Think I can manage that.

As Dean shifted he groaned. "Dude, this still kind sucks."

"Could you have figured that out before you took on the Green Bay Packers?"

"HA!"

"Hey, man," Sam called. "Is that the same cookie you were working on when I left?"

"No... Uh..." Dean muttered, dropping the cookie out of his hand. "Uhh….You left?"

"Uh... yeah... last night...when you were half way into that beer and cook…."

"Last night?"

"Okay, you really are out of it! You should really be more careful. I told you not to get too cocky."

"You the candy ass... good thing you know that and fully admit your faults. What have you been smokin'? You look like you just swallowed a tur..."

"Nothing... just having a good day. And I didn't take on the entire 5th battalion of rednecks, so I..."

"Yeah! yeah! Rub it in! Kick when I'm down... okay, right here." Dean pointed at his one of his ribs. "I think they missed this spot, so please finish..."

About that time Sam smacks a new wallet down on the spot Dean indicated. "Happy Birthday."

"What?" Dean flinched as this was entirely unexpected, but Sam didn't even waiver at his brother's surprise. "Huh?"

"At what part did I lose you, Sparky?"

"Who are you? Where's my brother?" Dean asked.

"I'm here. You're there."

"Oh... that makes it all so much clearer."

"Did you think I would forget? Not that you make it easy. Since you avoid the word birthday like the plague!"

"It's no big deal!"

"Well you have about five hours of birthday left?"

"Five left? Uh...how... What time is it?" Dean stumbled over his thoughts, even more confused.

"A little after seven…. At night."

"I've been asleep that long..."

"Almost a whole day. At least since about two in the morning when I went out. You were dosing off, eating cookies and drinking beer. Which I'll never figure out why you would want to mix that comb..."

"You should try beer on cornflakes!"

"Ugh…I'll pass. Anyway, I thought you need a new wallet since the other one..."

"The unfortunate casualty of too good a time."

"We need to work on your definition of a GOOD TIME!"

"I think I got that one down. It's you that... wait...Where were you for..." He stopped obviously counting the hours in his head.

"Open your wallet."

"What!"

"Open it!" Sam smarted. "Opposite of close... Lift one side..."

Flipping open the leather, Dean had a smartass response on his lips, but the picture staring back in him whisked it away. A photo of two children captured his attention, both so young and unknowing. Sam- a tiny baby- He a wide eyed toddler. He remembered the day this was taken- The day Sam came home. "Where did you?"

"At the Empty Glass."

"You didn't Sam… those guys…"

"That waitress is pretty chatty once you get to talk to her." Sam pretended not to notice that Dean was checking the new home of his keepsakes. In all his days, Sam never imagined his brother as the sentimental type, but it made perfect sense now.

"OH... Dad's sideburns! UGH! Looks like a squirrel died on his face."

"Mom was blind."

"I think she had secret plans all along to attack him with a razor. I always imagined her catching him asleep and ripping it off of him with a large piece of duct tape.

"Those were horrible…I'd have helped Mom if I had been born yet. " Sam chimed in.

"Oh... this one! Did they put a bowl on head and take a weedeater to my head."

"Yeah, pretty much...Course, you did the same to me."

"Whoa... I forgot about this... Mom's locket..." Dean uttered, finding the small golden piece of jewerly.

"Mom wore a locket?"

"Yeah... I broke it once... Man she was so pissed... Dad must have really promised her the moon after that. He fixed it and I kinda got it after she died."

"And then you broke it again."

"Yeah... yeah... long ass story and really I forgot a lot of it. Dad never really wanted to see it again, but I..." He was about to say he couldn't let go of it, but that seemed totally uncool. He flipped to each one until he came to the final photo pocket, finding the last place holder was empty and the faded receipt missing. He couldn't ask even if he wanted to. Sam had no way of knowing everything Dean had stashed away, and to be brutally honest even having some of it was more than he could ask for.

"Something wrong?" Sam turned so Dean couldn't see his sly grin.

"Nah, just thinking I'll have to break in a new wallet."

"Come on, get up and eat dinner..." Sam let Dean stand on his own, but hovered near in case the beating was worse than he thought. His brother managed just fine- a bit stiff and slow, but more than acceptable given the fight he just waged hours before. Yet, even the brief excursion took too much energy. He sat down with his put his head in his hands.

"You want a pillow?"

"DUDE!! What is up with you? All of a sudden you are all into mushy... Did you eat the purple berries again! I told you not to."

"I give you a wallet and you want to make a Hallmark movie over it… who is the mush one? You had the last one since you were 16... I think it's about time you moved into a new century." Sam said, pulling Styrofoam containers out of the bags.

Dean was quiet, abnormally so. He just gaped at Sam for a few seconds. "OKAY! I demand to know what the hell is up!"

"I figure you got your ass kicked around midnight... technically I think we can call that the traditional birthday spankings... but the waitress bartender did give me a number for you... so you can look forward to that!"

"That's not what I meant."

"Eat your dinner. We don't have a lot of time."

"Yeah, you said that... I know..."

"Nah, I figure we have just enough time to eat, pack, and haul ass before locals with pitchforks show up."

"Sam? What did you do?" Dean's stretched his words like it was a struggle to ask.

"You'd be surprised how cooperative the slackjaws who beat you were when I flashed a federal badge."

"Why did you risk all that... they could have..."

"You're my brother. And they were so willing to return the money and come with me to the station."

"You don't have a stat…"

"I know. Too bad I had to tie them all to the fence on that dirt road just out of town… in only their underwear. …."

"Oohhh.. COLD! "

"I got pics for later….Just don't blame me for the "I'm too Sexy underware."

"Sam Winchester you are a fine upstanding genteleman." Dean laughed, holding his side.

"Yeah, and we should eat and haul ass before someone finds them and puts it all together. It's a remote location, but they will be missed-- eventually."

"I'm not so sure. Their wives may be extremely happy at the moment."

"Humor me."

"Everyday... I'm a laugh riot." Dean would have made more smartass comments had he not noticed the faded receipt on the top of his container.

"What's in these?"

"Chicken and Dumplings." When Dean made a face, Sam resisted the urge to beam with cleverness. "What... you don't like them?"

"Shut up!" Dean toughed up, but then, he ever so subtly palmed the old receipt. He inhaled the warm steam coming off the container as he opened it, digging in the plastic take-out bag for a fork. And while Sam was buttering his roll, Dean slipped the new receipt in the same photo pocket with the old receipt before he shoved his wallet away. There was a small triumphant smile on his face.

Sam pretended not to notice. This was one time he wasn't going to bust Dean's chops. "Happy birthday." He muttered, stabbing a dumpling on his utensil, wondering how wonderful it would be to finally try the food Dean called his mother's best. He only wished they were their mother's birthday famous chicken and dumplings. As both brothers took large bites, they envisioned the best meal ever.

Sam forced himself to swallow and smile. "Hmmm….."

"Sam?" Smiling to himself, Dean leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah?"

"These are horrible. Like licking hairy road kill"

"Oh, thank God... I want to sandpaper my mouth."

"Dude, stay away from chicken! You aren't meant for each other and that's an order," He laughed.

"This is not funny!" Inside, he was glad his older brother remembered how much his 12-year-old self went through and could relate it to another failed attempt at a birthday surprise. The passing years had taken away the expectation and hope of that young boy, but somehow it made him remember why he always looked up to Dean.

"Oh, but it is!" Dean managed to squeeze out between chuckles."This borders on craptacular!" When he ended his fresh fit of laughter, Dean tried not to have too much fun, besides his ribs hurt when he chuckled. "I'm sorry, Sammy,"

"Sure you are."

Sam and Dean exchanged an amused glance. When Dean grinned and stifled a chuckle, Sam lost it, joining his brother in a chortle. "I'm thikin' the bar fight was safer than the food."

"Don't know about that. It's not safe having me for a brother."

"I'll take my chances."

"Me too."

"Me too? That's all you got?" Sam narrowed his gaze, but his eyes were lit with amusement.

"That's all you get when you try to poison me with this slop."

"You are so unappreciative!" He stated loudly, like he was overly pouting, but laughing like a fool. With that, Sam pitched the meal in the garbage, shaking his head. "Guess I still have a promise to keep.

"No… stop… I don't think my stomach will be able to take anymore." And this time he didn't notice as Dean mouthed a quiet thank you to his little brother. His eyes looked a bit wet, but he silently stuffed the idea of being so touched away, but this day would forever be a part of his collection of good memories- the few but highly prized.

* * *

THE END

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**Thanks for reading as always. I hoped you enjoyed it. Review like mad please... or I will... I will... uh.. heck... I'll just write more emo stories until someone tells me to stop. Let me know if you like it, if you please?**


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